


Getting On

by Sansa_of_the_North



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Depression, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:49:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansa_of_the_North/pseuds/Sansa_of_the_North
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for 6x08. </p><p>Thomas leaves his room. Edith takes an interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going to a Wedding

First day out of bed and he was going to Lady Mary Crawley's wedding, of all things. Well, at least it wasn't back to work—that would come tomorrow, he'd expect. He wondered if he'd had a hand in settling Lady Mary on Talbot with their little chat—at least his suicide attempt had done someone some good.

Thomas pulled on his shirt and jacket carefully over his bandaged wrists, settling the cuffs to cover them. It felt silly to be alive. He had no urge to try again, at least not right away, but he wasn't glad to have survived. He felt nothing, really, detached from his body and the world around him. He stared into the mirror, idly rubbing his thumb back and forth. _Ready?_

Not really.

He dallied on the stairs down to the servant's hall. Mrs. Hughes had said everyone who didn't already know were told he'd had the flu, But Anna would tell Bates and Miss Baxter would probably tell Moseley, Mrs. Patmore would find out and tell Daisy...what good was it trying to hide a secret around here? It didn't matter, he supposed. He was who he was—weak, despised, and deserving what he got. He'd be damned if he let on, be anything other than his cold facade. He drew his shoulders back, relaxed his face to neutral, and soldiered on.

Pause, stare, a small smile, and "How are you feeling, Mr. Barrow?" Daisy was the first to greet him, wearing her peach dress and finishing some last minute preparations for the wedding breakfast.

"Much better," he lied with a smile so tight and fake it sounded rather sarcastic.

"Here, have a cup of tea." Mrs. Patmore set the cup in front of him. She didn't exactly look him in the eyes.

Thomas thanked her and walked off to the hall, sipping. Talking around the table died, eyes and heads turned towards him. He wanted to shout at them, _Yes I bloody tried to off myself, don't you lot pretend you care!_ Anna gave an unsure smile, asked how he was. He was tempted to ignore her and walk out the back to await the exodus to the church.

"Fine," he clipped out instead, then sat beside Miss Baxter. At least when she smiled at him he knew it wasn't all pity, that for some daft reason she was fond of him. She'd even saved him a piece of toast, which Thomas ate like it was sawdust, eyes drifting to look at nothing. _No_ , he snapped his attention back. It wouldn't do to look lost and pathetic.

"Are you sure you can manage the walk to the village?" Bates asked, and Thomas wasn't sure if he was imagining a taunt in the question or not.

"Either way, I'll still get there before you," he replied smugly. He felt a little thrill, like his old self.

Bates looked strangely satisfied by that answer. Perhaps that was the Bates form of pity, letting Thomas rebuild his wall of thorns.

Anna piped in, "I think we're taking the wagonette anyway."

Andy entered the hall, grinning. "Good morning, Mr. Barrow!" He patted Thomas on the shoulder before sitting next to him. "It's a nice day to get out for a bit, isn't it?" Andy had gotten it into his head during the past few visits to Thomas's room that pure optimism was the order of the day. A bit grating, but well meaning.

"Sure thing, Andy." Thomas felt fidgety; he didn't want to be here. He stood up and walked quickly to the back courtyard. He lit a cigarette, soothed by the slight burn in his throat. He wondered if that was it, then—they saw he was still alive, not about to fall to pieces. Maybe the awkwardness would fade and they'd forget and be freed from the idea that they ought to feel sympathy for him.

It was a relief to be alone again for a little bit. He relaxed back into his depression, that private world inside of him that could face the truth, that was allowed to feel hopeless and empty without worrying the few that seemed to care about him. What had really changed, anyway? He wouldn't get his marching orders for a little while longer, but he couldn't stay forever. He thought back to his youth, when he'd thought himself too good for service, had dreams of getting out. Now he didn't feel good enough for anything else; after all, what other skills did he have after fifteen years?

He took a drag of the cigarette. And then there was the loneliness...he felt tears start to prickle his eyes. Better not think of that now. Get through the day, the wedding. _You'll never find someone to love you_ , came the bitter voice inside him.

He heard the back door open and the chatter of people. Miss Baxter came up beside Thomas. "Are you..."

"If you say 'all right', I'm bashing my head into a wall," he muttered.

"...coming?" Looking cheeky, she put a hand on his arm. "You don't have to, you know. If it's too soon."

"Ahh," he patted her hand, "got to face the world some time, don't I?"

 

As Thomas stood in the wagonette with the others, he felt less like a fungus under a microscope and exhaled a breath he hadn't known he was holding. For some reason he felt like smiling at Andy and Miss Baxter, standing on either side of him like his own personal defense brigade.

Outside the church, Thomas took a moment to get another smoke in before the ceremony started.

"Where's Edith?" he heard Lord Grantham say.

"She said she'd rather look after the children," Lady Grantham said. "I can't blame her for wanting to avoid a wedding."

"No, of course not."

"At least she seemed to make up with Mary earlier."

_Smart lady. I shouldn't have come either._ Just another reminder of what he'd never have. Too late now, Thomas entered the church and found his place at the back with the other servants.

Lady Mary and Talbot's happiness hurt like a glowing-red knife in his stomach. He stood tall and empty as he watched them, wishing to die all over again. It hurt the same way Anna and Bates hurt him, or Carson and Mrs. Hughes; even Miss Baxter and Moesley. A few people might miss Thomas if he was gone, Master George would probably cry, but no one would be heartbroken.

Once it was all done and people were leaving, Thomas slipped away from everyone to walk in the graveyard. He wondered if he'd feel this way forever—sad, bitter, and jealous. What kind of life was that to live? He'd been walking with his head down, but looked up when he heard laughter. Over by Lady Sybil's grave the three children of Downton Abbey were chasing each other with Lady Edith looking on fondly.

He planned to keep on and not bother them, until Master George spotted him. "Mr. Barrow!" The lad ran over to him and threw his arms around Thomas's leg. "You're better!"

Thomas ruffled his blond hair, then Miss Sybbie collided with his other leg and clung to it as well. "We missed you!" she said.

Miss Marigold came up shyly and held out her arms to him. "Oh, all right," he said, lifting her up. "You've got me, I'm surrounded!"

"Children," Lady Edith said, coming upon them, "don't crowd Mr. Barrow."

"It's all right, m'lady."

"We were visiting my mummy," Sybbie informed him with solemn eyes.

"I wanted to see my mummy get married, but Auntie Edith said I couldn't sit still that long," said George.

Marigold was playing with his face, pushing and pulling at his cheeks and lips.

"That's enough, Marigold." Lady Edith leaned in and took Marigold from him. "I'm sorry about that, Barrow. And you two, let go." The children obeyed their aunt, and Thomas felt the loss of their affection.

"I don't mind, m'lady. They remind me of my own brothers and sisters." He didn't know why he'd said that—the less said about home, the better.

"Oh." Lady Edith watched him for a second, then turned to put Marigold down. "There you are, darling. We're all going to walk home now. Would you like to come with us, Barrow?"

Thomas bowed his head slightly and said, "Of course, m'lady."

The two adults walked slowly side by side as the children skipped ahead. For a while, the three of them held hands, until George broke away to run ahead of them. "They don't particularly remind me of my sisters," Lady Edith remarked. "I doubt I ever held hands with Mary. With Sybil, perhaps."

The memory of Lady Sybil flickered sad and sweet in his mind. There hadn't been a judgmental bone in that woman's body—everyone was equal to her, even Thomas. It wasn't right, that she should be in the cold ground while he still lived. Lady Edith seemed to be lost in thoughts of her sister as well.

Thomas grew peaceful as he let the beauty of the day wash over him. Green and yellow grass shivered and rippled with the wind, and white-headed flowers bobbed back and forth. The sun soaked his skin, trying to rekindle some sort of warmth inside of him, if he only would allow it. The children laughing ahead of them was the music of a happy life. Thomas could almost let himself forget everything but this moment.

"Barrow," Lady Edith said, breaking his thoughts. "I don't mean to pry, and you needn't say anything if you don't want to, but...why did you do it?"

No need to ask what she meant, and so much for peace. But somehow he didn't mind the way she put it. "You know, I don't think anyone's asked me that." He absent-mindedly touched one of his bandaged wrists.

"I'm sorry, it was rude of me..."

Thomas waved away her apology. "Lots of reasons, really. All of it amounting to...nothing, I suppose. A life of nothing." Coldness radiated from the pit of his stomach, remembering. "Was about to lose my job, and no one liked or trusted me, even after all these years."

She looked at him like one might look at a friend. "I'm sorry."

"It's my own fault..."

"No, it's not." Lady Edith said forcefully. "I know you're...different. I've been different too, in my own way. It made me bitter when I was younger, and jealous. Then every time I tried to be happy, things fell apart. But I don't deserve to be unhappy, and neither do you. And even if it's not what you expected or planned for, you'll find something to fill your life, I promise."

"Like you found Miss Marigold?" Thomas stopped and looked her in the eye.

She looked back just as steady, then sighed. "Yes, like Marigold."

They continued on. Sybbie was kicking up dirt with each step she took, and George was showing Marigold a frog he'd found. "Yuck!" said the little girl.

Thomas shook his head. "A man like me has fewer options, m'lady."

"Hmm." She seemed to be in thought. "What do you want, Barrow?"

"What do any of us want, m'lady? To be loved. It's hard, though, when the world's your enemy." Listen to him, all soppy and soft.

"Only if you see it that way." Marigold ran up to Lady Edith and grabbed her hand. They swung their arms back and forth. "I'm moving to London soon. Maybe you should too. If I needed a butler I'd give you the job."

"That's kind to hear, m'lady."

"Well." They had reached the Abbey. "If you need any help, let me know."

Thomas couldn't believe it. "Why would you want to help me?"

Lady Edith laughed. "Besides the fact you saved my life in that fire? Let's say it's a good turn from one unlucky person to another. And Sybil would have helped you, I think." And with that, Lady Edith escorted the children through the front door of the house, and Thomas went around the back.


	2. Going Back to Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas still feels awkward. Edith has a plan.

At the servant's dinner that night, Carson turned to Thomas and asked, "I was wondering, Mr. Barrow, if you felt ready to get back to work tomorrow." And there it was. Thomas looked up and saw the strangest look on Carson's face. Tenderness, if he could believe it.

"Of course, Mr. Carson."

"Perhaps it would be better to keep to tasks downstairs at first," Mrs. Hughes said.

"I can fulfill all my duties, Mrs. Hughes. Don't worry about me." He attacked his plate with the knife and fork, cutting up a piece of ham. Honestly, he didn't look forward to being in the dining room again, waiting on people who knew what he'd tried to do.

"But I do worry." She paused. "We don't want you falling ill again."

Thomas said nothing, staring down at his plate. They were all looking at him, he was sure.

"Perhaps you better speak to Dr. Clarkson, make sure you're well enough..."

"I don't need Dr. Clarkson," he snapped. He shouldn't have spoken to her that way, she was only trying to help. "Sorry."

"Well, if you're sure," she said with a lingering glance.

"We're glad you could make it to Lady Mary's wedding," Anna said to him.

Was it really going to go on like this, people who despised him trying to engage him out of pity? "I doubt anyone would notice if I hadn't."

Silence again. Thomas wanted to fade away, to lock himself in his misery with no one to notice. It was funny really, after spending months wishing someone cared enough to pay attention. But now that they did, it seemed too painful to bear.

Andy, bless him, took the hint and started talking about how his reading was getting on, while the others congratulated him. This led way to neutral topics for the rest of the meal, and no one tried to speak to him again.

After dinner Thomas went back to his room, intending to read, but all he could do was pace back and forth, sit on his bed, then get up and pace again.

~

Edith sat at her dressing table, brushing out her hair and thinking about her conversation with Barrow.

Edith had never taken a particular interest in any of the staff before. She knew Papa was close to Bates, and Mary had both claimed Anna for herself and had Carson around her little finger. Sybil had helped that Mrs. Harding get her first job. Edith had no ladies maid of her own, besides Madge, who had left.

But Thomas Barrow was a mystery. She didn't know much about him, hardly knew his name before the war, and then Downton had become a convalescent home. They hadn't worked together much then, beyond relaying messages that this one was looking for a book or that one was in pain. But she was certainly more aware of him; how he might sneer at the household staff he saw as below him, how smug he acted towards Carson, who was no longer his superior. She also saw how kind he could be to the soldiers, and how efficiently he ran the daily tasks that ensured their comfort and healing. Quite the contradiction.

Over the years Edith heard the occasional downstairs gossip about him from Madge, especially about the incident where Barrow had kissed a handsome young footman in his sleep, and nearly got sacked without a reference. She heard about the mean things he said, when he was looking dreadfully ill (though she could see that herself in the dining room), and even about the time Mary had used him to get at Lord Sinderby. Then there was how sweet he was with the children.

And now he had tried to end his life.

Edith's heart went out to him, perhaps because it struck a chord with her own sadness. Her own chance of happiness was once again smashed. She would never see Bertie again, and the grief of what she'd lost choked her. She knew it was her own fault, despite what Mary had done, then remembered what she'd told Barrow—despite their mistakes, they weren't doomed to unhappiness.

Well, helping Barrow would be a distraction, at least. And perhaps the best way of helping oneself was to help another.

~

Thomas sat alone at the servant's hall that morning, reading yesterday's paper and smoking a cigarette. He heard the limping footfalls and clack of a cane, looked up and saw Bates standing in front of him. He went back to his paper.

"Why are you still being this way?" Bates asked. Thomas looked up at him, saw his earnest and open face judging him.

"Am I supposed to be grateful that I'm still alive?" Thomas replied coolly, like a snake. "Surely that must be a disappointment to you."

Bates shook his head, as if he couldn't believe his foolishness. "I don't particularly like you, but I'd never wish you harm. I wouldn't wish that on any man."

"Well thank goodness for Saint Bates."

Bates's steely gaze bore into him. "You know I never told Mr. Carson it was you who stole the wine. I helped you get back at Miss O'Brien. I've been more of a friend to you than you deserved."

Thomas felt something hot and insistent well up in his chest. "And why is that, Mr. Bates?"

"Because despite it all, I don't think you're an evil person. And like it or not, you're one of us. You're like the mean uncle that still gets invited to Christmas dinner."

Thomas had to laugh at that. "From you, Mr. Bates, I will take that as a compliment."

Bates sighed. "Don't shut us out, Thomas."

Before either could say any more, Daisy came in with the porridge and Anna and Miss Baxter joined them at the table.

 

The day went by in a haze. He worked on the inventory and other lists for the house. Carson said he wasn't needed at luncheon, but Thomas insisted that he serve the tea. Usually, he would enter the library unnoticed, but the eyes of the family turned to him and watched him lay down the tray.

"Thank you, Barrow," his Lordship said as he handed him a cup. "I trust you're doing better."

Thomas didn't want to be noticed. He was a servant, they weren't supposed to notice him—a condition he hadn't always liked, but longed for now. "Yes, m'lord."

Lord Grantham didn't seem to believe him. "I'm sorry this business about...well, that we may have been too..."

The thing he hated about Lord Grantham was the man's sense of being a benevolent master, of pretending to care about his lot. "Don't worry about it, m'lord," Thomas said. "I'd rather just forget about it right now."

"Yes, of course. Carry on."

Lady Grantham and Lady Edith both smiled at him as he brought them their tea. Kindness and concern, or uneasiness? Did it matter? Soon everyone would forget and Thomas would be able to get on as he always had. Until they told him it was really time for him to move on, Barrow.

He was just clearing up the tea when the children came down from the nursery. Marigold ran to Lady Edith, Sybbie to Branson, but as Lady Mary was on her honeymoon, George looked unsure of where to go. He went up to Thomas and waved. "Hello, Mr. Barrow!"

"Hello, Master George." He could help but warm up to the sight of his little friend.

"Come here to your grandmama, George," Lady Grantham called.

"Bye-bye," George waved again before scampering off.

Thomas took up the tea tray and left.

 

Dinner went more smoothly. Thomas stood with his back to the window, signaled to the footmen, and looked on. He helped Carson serve wine, but as the dark red liquid poured he had sensation that it was blood gushing from his wrists and trickling into the glasses. He gripped the pitcher tighter—he didn't want to lose his grip or have his hands shake. If Thomas had anything in this life, it was his pride in being good at his job. He'd never been less than professional, even when he'd been ill from the injections and pills he'd used to try to change himself. _All that pain, for nothing._

~

As the women were going through, Edith caught Carson in the hall and asked for a moment.

"Carson, what exactly does and under butler do? Besides serving."

"M'lady?"

"It's just," Edith fiddled with her hands. "I would like to help Barrow find new employment, and I wanted to know what sorts of skills he could take to a job out of service."

Carson looked as if he approved of the idea. "That's very kind of you, m'lady. Well, Mr. Barrow serves as an assistant to me. He manages the male staff when I'm not around, and he's taken over most of my paperwork."

"Would you say that he's clever?"

"Perhaps too clever, m'lady, but that is another story."

Edith nodded to herself. "Yes. That gives me something to go on. Thank you, Carson." As she started to go she turned and added, "Don't say anything to him, will you?"

"Of course not, m'lady."

~

Andy asked Thomas for a game of cards after they had their dinner. He agreed, and they moved to the other end of the table to be out of the way. Miss Baxter got out a bit of sewing and sat contentedly chatting with Moesley. Bates and Anna sat talking across the table, waiting out the time before Lord Grantham went to bed and they could go back to the cottage. Thomas got an idea, and barely had the nerve to act on it—he lit a cigarette to steady himself.

"You two want to play with us?" he asked the married couple.

Bates and Anna whipped around and looked at him like he'd finally gone off his rocker. "I'm not much one for cards," Bates demurred.

"Oh go on," Anna said cheerfully. "Why don't we play for a bit?"

Bates raised an eyebrow at his wife. "If you like."

Thomas breathed out. A small offering for peace, and it wasn't shot into the dirt. He decided he'd do his best to rein in his sarcastic remarks, although with Bates they just seemed to come naturally. They'd disliked each other for so long, it was hard to break the habit.

Andy shuffled and dealt the cards for Gin Rummy. Thomas noticed Bates look over at Anna's hand. "Oi, no peeking, you two," he reprimanded lightly, pointing his finger at them. Bates just smirked.

~

Edith got the letter a week later, over breakfast.

"Good news, dear?" her papa asked, seeing her triumphant expression.

"Quite good." She folded up the note and put it back in the envelope. "I think I'll go for a walk." On her way out of the dining room she quietly asked Carson to send Barrow outside to meet her.

The day was bright but the touch of Autumn's arrival leant a crispness to the air. Edith watched Barrow come through the bushes from the back entrance, stiff and starched in his livery.

"What can I do for you, m'lady?" bowing his head slightly and sounding thoroughly puzzled.

"Come take a walk with me," she gestured down the lane. "And really, it's what I can do for you."

Barrow's eyes widened for a moment before he could hide his shock.

Edith waited until they'd walked a while before explaining. "I asked around if there were any job openings in London, something I thought you'd be good at. I've just received a response from the printers of the _Sketch_. They're looking for an office manager and would be happy to meet you for an interview."

Barrow's mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to say, "But m'lady, I don't know anything about printing!"

"You can learn easy enough, I know you're intelligent. The job will mostly consist of making sure all the proper paperwork goes through, that orders are completed on time, and basically making sure everything and everyone is running smoothly. You'd be assisting the head printer, Mr. Jennings."

Barrow seemed to be running the idea through his head, and brightened with hesitant excitement. "Do you really think I could do it, m'lady? I've been in service my whole life."

"And you've risen almost to the top. I'm sure you'll be a success, and it'd be a whole new life for you." Edith felt the excitement catching. A new world, full of possibilities, and she was making it possible.

"I-I didn't think you really meant it, m'lady, when you said you'd help me." He looked almost shy as he said it.

"Well, I did. Now, your interview is next Monday morning. I thought perhaps I could go with you down to London and we could stay at my Aunt Rosamond's the night before. I'd let you stay with me at the flat, but I doubt that'd be proper."

Barrow couldn't help from beaming. "I'm very grateful, m'lady, very grateful indeed."


	3. Going Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life moves on.

"How was the interview, Mr. Barrow?" Daisy greeted him as he came through the kitchen, still holding his valise.

Thomas turned to her. "Very good, Daisy, very good indeed. Mr. Jennings seemed a nice man, and the office is in disarray, so I know they could use the help."

"You'd be like butler to the business world, wouldn't you?" She continued shaping rolls of dough as she talked, the action second nature. "And it'll be so exciting, living in London. You'll be able to meet all sorts of people."

"Well I haven't gotten the job just yet."

"And it were ever so nice of Lady Edith to help you find it. I wonder why she did it."

"I suppose she felt sorry for me," Thomas admitted.

"What for?" Daisy crinkled her brow in puzzlement. Thomas realized in that moment that she didn't know about what he'd tried to do, that it hadn't become idle gossip. If this were the old days with O'Brien, a secret like suicide would be fair game for their machinations. He imagined his younger self and O'Brien taunting the man he had become.

"It doesn't matter. I better get this upstairs," Thomas said, holding up the valise and making his way to the staircase.

It was a queer thing—he'd spent so long assuming everyone was against him, it was hard to admit he might have been wrong. Life at Downton was improving—the air of tension he'd felt in every room he entered had faded, as it was bound to do with time. He still thought they saw him a fragile creature that one must take care not to break. Once he proved that he wouldn't fall to pieces, they would see him as they used to.

_Is that what you want, to go back to the way it was?_ Well, no...Thomas had decided to make an effort with the rest of the staff and keep his negative thoughts to himself (although a voice in his head still whispered that everyone was just pretending to be kind to him, that no one truly cared for him). So he did his best to be pleasant to them...all of them, even Moseley. Miss Baxter had practically exploded with pleasure in her own meek and reserved way when Thomas had asked Moseley if he had any suggestions for a new book to read. So far all his overtures of friendship had been met without much suspicion. He didn't really know why he was bothering, but there it was.

The nights, though, left him gutted. All his dark thoughts and feelings welled up when he was alone in his narrow bed. He would look at the scars on his wrists, angry red lines that would one day fade to white, but always be there. He looked at the bullet wound on his left hand as well, the skin warped and crinkled. All these marks of cowardice, of the death he'd escaped. He couldn't stop wishing he had died.

It all came down to that one thing, the piece that made him different and unacceptable, that wouldn't let him have an easy, normal life. He loved men, and while he didn't think that made him foul, it made him incredibly lonely.

Thomas set aside his valise by the dresser, but instead of unpacking or changing into his livery for work, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Just a moment to rest. Jimmy came unbidden into his thoughts. The look of him changing his shirt, strong muscled chest and beautiful golden hair. All those stolen touches as he helped him wind clocks or watched him play the piano. One tender kiss in the night that had nearly ruined everything but had expanded his heart with joy in the moment. Thomas had loved Jimmy even when he was trying to ruin him, had been cruel to him, and after they had finally become friends. The longing to be loved back had never left him, even after Jimmy was gone.

Thomas put a hand on his chest to feel the rapid beating of his heart. Longing was all he would ever have. Sometimes he thought he was going to shrivel up and blow away from the constant lack of touch. Sure, he wasn't the only servant in the world to be alone, but things were changing—Carson and Mrs. Hughes were married, and if that didn't signal the end times, he didn't know what did.

Anyway, he might be moving to London soon. As Daisy had said, he was bound to meet all sorts, including those like himself. Of course, there was also the greater risk of being caught by the police. But wasn't it worth the risk?

There was a knock at the door. "Mr. Barrow, are you in there? Mr. Carson is looking for you," Andy called.

"Thanks, Andy. I'll be there in a minute," Thomas called back. Time to be getting on.

~

A long time ago, Thomas had ached to leave Downton Abbey, but now that the day had come he was tinged with regret. He had his new job in hand, and a list of a few flats to look at when he arrived. But the roots he had put down, as fragile as they were, tugged at him. He should have made better use of his time here. But he also knew he had been unfairly judged at times—it still hurt, the way everyone had warned Andy away from him. He wasn't about to attack every handsome young lad he came across. _But that's how they'll always think of you, as a dangerous deviant._

Still. Last night Mrs. Patmore and Daisy had made a little cake for a going away party, and congratulations were given all round. Mr. Carson had even made a speech about how Thomas had grown from an tempestuous youth to a fine man, and how he hoped his future endeavors would be prosperous. Mrs. Hughes seemed to be stifling tears as she said he'd been trouble in his time and no mistake, but she always knew he'd find his way, and the place wouldn't be the same without him. Mr. Bates had even shook his hand and wished him luck. Thomas wondered if he would have been given such a fond farewell a month or two ago—not likely. He had a hard time trusting the sincerity, but it was nice to hear all the same.

Thomas waited outside the house for the car to come around. Lady Edith was finally moving to London as well, and he would sit in the front of the car with her to the station. Miss Baxter waited by his side.

"You've been a true friend to me," he told her. "You never gave up on me."

"Well," she said. "I suppose I'll always see you as the little boy who followed us around with such a terribly serious face." Phyllis stood on her tip-toes and kissed Thomas on the cheek. He smiled and blushed. "I wish you all the happiness in the world."

"You too. Promise to visit me the next time the family's in London?"

"You can count on it."

The whole family came out to wish Lady Edith and Marigold goodbye. Thomas took the opportunity to wave all three of the children over to him, then crouched down before them. "I'll be off now," he told them.

"But why?" Sybbie whined.

"Please don't go." George pleaded. "Marigold's going too. We're going to miss you."

"Who will be our horsey now?" Sybbie reasoned.

"Oh, come here you," Thomas said, drawing the children into a hug. "You'll soon forget all about me. And you never know, we might meet again someday."

"Barrow," Lady Mary said, and Thomas straightened up. "We're all so glad you're leaving us on good terms. We wish you well," she nodded graciously.

"Thank you, m'lady. I couldn't have done it without Lady Edith." He smiled as said lady joined them.

"Yes, well." Lady Mary's eyebrows went up, as if there was no accounting for taste.

"I suppose we're really starting our new adventures, aren't we Barrow?" Lady Edith looked happy, but then their eyes connected and the moment felt bittersweet, as if both were aware of a missing element.

Lady Mary broke the moment with a knowing look. "I've a surprise waiting for you in London, Edith."

"Should I be worried?"

"Perhaps. But I do hope it makes up for what I've put you through." Lady Mary put an arm around her sister, and Thomas took his leave.

He shook Lord Grantham's hand, accepted a kind word from Lady Grantham, and then it was time to go. Marigold was bouncing in the back seat with Lady Edith, while Thomas looked out the window from the front. The grand and forbidding Downton Abbey loomed above him, the only home he'd known for fifteen years. When they turned at the end of the drive he saw it again, reduced by distance, and it wasn't so forbidding after all.

~

Edith arrived at the restaurant just as Aunt Rosamund arrived. "Isn't our timing perfect?" her aunt said, leading her inside by the arm. "You know, Mary recommended this place."

"Did she?" Edith couldn't help distrusting her sister just a little bit, over every small thing. It must be habit.

This time, the distrust was not unfounded. Rosamund led her to a table where Bertie Pelham was standing up to meet her. "Hello, Edith," he spoke softly.

"Bertie." Edith wanted to cry and fling her arms about him, beg him to forgive her. But she just stood there, unsure of what to say or do.

"Would you join us for luncheon?" Bertie asked, waving to a man beside him and two empty chairs.

"We'd be delighted," Rosamund said firmly.

Edith began to smile, and Bertie's face broke to mimic her.

~

Thomas stood outside the cinema, smoking and wondering at what he'd just seen. The film had been _Michael_ , a German picture about an artist, his male model, and the woman who comes between them. Blimey, things must be changing when you can see two men in love on the silver screen.

"Can you spare a smoke?" Thomas turned and found a tall, handsome man looking at him with bright green eyes.

He handed the stranger a cigarette, gave him a light.

"Thank you." His voice was soft and warm like honey. "What did you think of the picture?"

"It was all right," Thomas said casually.

"I found it rather tragic." The man took a drag and blew out a cloud of smoke. "I'm Christopher."

"Thomas." They shook hands.

Christopher looked him up and down. Decided, he asked, "Would you like to get a cup of tea with me? I know a charming little cafe down the street."

Thomas, filled with excitement, nervousness, and hope, nodded his head. "All right, then."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple bits from the Christmas Special trailer there for you ;) Thank you for reading.


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